Hand in glove with highway robbers
an' footpads. Not much good a-tryin' to catch a highwayman if he once
gets to Hounslow. He's only got to run in one of the houses where's he
known an' you might as well try to foller a fox as has darted into a
drain. Some o' them ale houses an' boozin' kens has got passages
a-runnin' one into the other."
"That's very terrible Mr. Stephen. You quite alarm me," cried Lavinia.
But she was not so alarmed as she would have been had she been brought
up a fine lady. She had had highwaymen pointed out to her in Drury Lane
and Dyott Street and knew that the majority were boasting, bragging
fellows and cowards at heart. But there were others of a different
quality who did their robberies with quite a gentlemanly air.
They took the way through Whitton Park. As the housekeeper said, the
journey was cross-country so far as roads were concerned, but Stephen
knew the short cuts and they reached the long, straggling, mean-looking
Hounslow High Street--the future town was at that time little more than
a street--at about a quarter to six.
They entered the "George"--a house of greater pretensions than the
rest--and Lavinia found she was in plenty of time for the London coach.
"She'll be late," said the landlord. "A chap as just come in says he
rode past her t'other side o' the heath an' she was stuck fast on a
nasty bit o' boggy road and one o' the leaders--a jibber--wouldn't stir
a step for whip or curses.
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